The Stuff of Heaven
by Wind Blown Dreamer
Summary: For the Towers of Alicante "Summer or Bust Fic Exchange" - History has a way of repeating itself. Magnus Bane knows that fact all too well. - Mentions of Tessa/Will, Tessa/Jem, Clary/Jace, Clary/Simon and Malec.


_**AN - Good grief, I didn't think I was ever going to get this finished by the deadline! Isn't it funny how, when you have to complete something by a deadline, everything that could happen does? But, regardless of that, it was a lot of fun to do.**_

_**This was written for The Towers of Alicante "Summer or Bust Fic Exchange." I received the following prompts from Tzadikim: The stuff of heaven, blood calls blood and blessed are the angels.**_

_**That all being said, enjoy the story!**_

**Disclaimer - I DO NOT own the Mortal Instruments series or any of the characters. If I did own the series, I would've been able to read City of Lost Souls by now!**

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History has a bitchy way of repeating itself.

Magnus Bane knows that fact all too well. But, perhaps not nearly as well as the girl in the white dress who runs from the joyous celebration, brown curls bouncing. (Magnus doesn't even need to see her face to know that those grey eyes are stormier than usual, through no fault of the weather.) How could she not be? In (rather mortifying) retrospect, she's handling the situation far better than he would, if he were in her situation. Blasts from the past are rarely pleasant.

As he turns, he can see what set off the wave of nauseous nostalgia. Shockingly, he doesn't even think it's his beloved Alec.

_(Who looks so much like William it's a sucker-punch to the gut of what could've been but never, never will be.)_

Clary Morgenstern, Jace what-ever-the-hell-his-last-name-is-today, and Simon Lewis.

It's a trio, a triangle so heart-breakingly familiar it nearly knocks him to his knees. But of course, it doesn't. He's Magnus Bane, and by _God_ he's got a reputation to maintain: not to mention how it would ruin his new designer suit.

_(Lies, lies, the lot of it. He's scared to death – ha-ha, as if he should be so lucky – that, once he falls, he won't be able break the surface of the crushing sea of memories.)_

As they stand there, he can almost see Tessa, Will and Jem standing there in their places. Or it could be the alcohol. He's not entirely sure on that point.

_("Magnus, when will you ever grow up?" Tessa had asked in exasperation after he'd turned her precious rose bush into a Venus fly trap as a prank. "Why, Tessa darling, haven't you heard?" He replied cavalierly, " We've got forever to grow up - why rush it?" He knew in an instant by her sudden intake of breath that it was the wrong thing to say.)_

But inebriated or not, it's the same damn story all over again. Sure, the names, the backgrounds and the personalities - alright, Jace and Will aren't all that different, but that's another drunken rant – are different, but heart-break seems to follow shadow-hunters like a stalker ex. (Which Magnus has had plenty of experience with, thank you very much, say good-night, Gracie.) It even stalked generations later. "Blessed are the angels, my foot."

Jace is so clearly a Herondale, Magnus can't believe he didn't see it sooner. What other family is so chock-full of handsome, so-broody-they-could-masquerade-as-Batman males? If he keeps up the Romeo and Juliet-type drama, he might begin to give old William a run for his money.

_(No, no. It's not the same type of pain at all.)_

But, regardless of cultural icons, the Herondales are very alike. They both inspire loyalty in their parabatai that transcends the plain between life and death – blood calls blood, and all that. And both hide their hearts under a veneer so solid that Magnus wonders from time to time if even they can tell the difference between the acting and the real person underneath – or if there's a person underneath to speak of.

Clarissa is... in some ways so much like his dear Theresa and yet in others so unlike his friend that he wonders if he'd finally lost his last tendrils of sanity that he even saw a fragment of similarity between the two. Clarissa is so naïve to the world: she still subconsciously believes in rainbows and suns with smiles hastily scribbled on them. Tessa, on the other hand, is so practical it's almost painful. She buries her pain with a shovel of text in a grave made of paper. But, despite the differences, they are still similar in all the wrong ways. They were both unfamiliar with the downworld and are both destined to break the hearts of those nearest and dearest to them whether they intend to or not.

And the similarities between Simon and Jem are unmistakable... okay, so Jem was clearly _not_ a vampire (though if he got much paler, he could've easily been an extra in the next "Twilight" film) and would probably never play a video game, (if they'd existed then) it further proved the point that the best friend/nice guy tends to get the short end of the stick when it comes to getting the girl in the end. They'd both suffered health conditions through no fault of the their own doing. While Simon is like Clary, with naïve views and the like, Jem was hardened by tragedy by the age of seven. Jem's life was cut so tragically cut short, while Simon has all the time in the world. Haven't they suffered enough? Don't they deserve better? Don't they -

Good Lord, he's going to need a stiffer drink if he's going to keep up this cheery line of thought. Or maybe he just needs his Alec. Where has his Bright Eyes gone? Ah, there he is, talking to his mother who Magnus has dubbed (in his head of course) the most terrifying woman on the face of the earth. So going to Alec is definitely out of the question.

Magnus maneuvers his way over to the spot under the tree that Tessa had vacated. She must've left already. Damn. He'd wanted to talk to her some more. It's so rare to see any of the old crowd any more. Alright, it's so rare to see any of the old crowd who'd still talk to him after the shenanigans he'd pulled over the centuries. Tessa is technically part of that crowd but, for some reason that he likes to pretend he doesn't understand _(honest-to-goodness loneliness)_ she still tolerates him with little more than an eye roll.

Magnus rolls his drink around in the glass – didn't the idiots know that red and blurry glassware was so last season?

Wait.

_Blurry?_

Aw, hell. He blinks a few times to dispel the tears before they have the chance to ruin his (meticulously applied) eyeliner.

"Magnus? Are you _crying_?" Magnus barely suppresses the urge to jump. But he's got his reputation to maintain and, besides, it's only Alec peering up at him with his big blue eyes.

He chokes out a laugh as fake as a tan on a celebrity actress going down the red carpet. "Me? Don't be ridiculous, Alexander! I, uh-"

"Spaced out while looking directly at the lights?" Magnus scrunches up his nose. Any other day, that wouldn't be too far-fetched an idea, but that doesn't mean he likes to hear it. _He's lucky he's cute._

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Okay, now he can practically feel the concern radiating.

Alec was truly stunning when he smiled. In fact, if Magnus could bottle up that smile, he was sure it could stop a war. But this time, it looks just plain devious. "You're right. I do have somewhere else to be. As do you."

"I do?"

"Yep. It's time for you to talk to Isabelle. She wants to 'inspect' you." If Alec were any other man, he would've broken his jaw smiling at this point.

"And people think I'm the devious one in this Dynamic Duo." As usual, his pop culture references went sailing right over Alec's head. He thought he heard them splash in the punch bowl. Regardless, he lets himself be dragged through the throng to his certain doom via Mrs. Godzilla, but not before he could see Clary slip off into the darkness of the surrounding streets presumably in search of Jace, and Simon's pained gaze trailing in her wake.

The stuff of heaven indeed.


End file.
